Maledict
by IntensityRising
Summary: Harry Potter is a cursed existence. At one, he was cursed with death. At five, he was cursed with not dying sooner. Left under his extended family's yoke, Harry did not take well to his new life, could only claim a tenuous grasp on his surroundings. They say that all great men are touched with madness, but is the inverse true too? Does madness beget power?


**AN:** This is my first fan-fiction. I've read probably 180 fanfics or so before starting my attempt. I've likely more than 20 million words under my belt at this point. Even so, I don't think I'll ever be as good a writer as some authors on here, but I promise that I'll endeavor to hold high standards to my work.

What is written below that may be construed as belonging to a corporation, or author is likely something that I own naught of. As such, anything terminology or characters that can be identified as being an intellectual property belonging to the world of Harry Potter is owned by J. , and her publishing company or companies.

**Malefice**

Halloween. It is the name most commonly known to be used for that of Samhain. The time of the year where the veil of death is most parted, when the spooky scary skeletons can be found skulking about, or perhaps dark dangerous deeds are dastardly done. It is a time of death; death in good, and death in bad. It is on this night that a certain household in Godric's Hollow was visited upon by a Dark Lord, it is on this night that said Dark Lord found his comeuppance. And it is this night, that our story begins, not in earnest, but in earliest. It begins as many stories begin, with a man and a woman, but more importantly their deaths: thus orphaning an erstwhile parented child. This child will hereafter be known as Harry Potter, or Harry for short. I say child, but the child is more akin to a baby than anything else. Though perhaps not, as babies really should not have the sapience afforded to young Harry. He saw, and he sees indeed, though his mother never let him ride such a dangerous muggle contraption. He saw the dark, and handsome Dark Lord (aptly named if I do say myself), enter his room, and heard his mother one last time.

"No! Not Harry. I won't let you take him, not while I still breathe! Kill me instead, just don't harm my Harry", she entreated upon the Dark Lord, in what must have been a most humorous capacity much like when she would tickle young Harry, as the Dark Lord chuckled before emitting a delicious green light at her.

Looking down at the boy, who stared back at him, the Dark Lord couldn't help, but notice how the baby looked at him with mild curiosity. In truth he felt a bit curious himself, when he felt the power radiating off of the babe. "You could have been a great wizard", standing back in thought, and twirling his cape in a show of finesse, he spoke to the year old baby in a commanding voice, "Join me, and I'll see your wildest dreams made true!"

"Goo!" laughed young Harry, and proceeded to make a mess of his diaper, causing much of a stink.

"You dare? You dare soil yourself in the presence of the greatest Dark Lord? Die then!", indicted the greatest Dark Lord, before firing the scrumptious jade energy at the baby.

Young Harry, so captivated by the resplendent emerald cascade of light stretched his hands out eager to accept the obviously green apple flavoured ray, only to be dismayed when it bounced back the way it came twice as fast. Young Harry began to cry, what such rotters there are to deny a baby his candy. In truth, the Dark Lord Voldemort's expressions mirrored Harry's right down to the dismay, though perhaps with quite a bit of terror mixed with the latter as well. When the incandescent green apple flavored beam shot back, and collided with the Dark Lord, he exploded into nothingness. Verily for the only remnant of Voldemort still left in the nursery were a pile of ashes, a wand, and the cape of the Lord, never to be twirled again.

Harry still crying, was blinded with water that seemed to flow unending from his eyes, and thus missed a rat faced man scurrying into the room, grabbing the wand, before running out again. After a score of minutes the baby ceased his incessant wailing, just in time for another person to arrive. A young man with short cropped black hair, and a handsome roguish face.

"No Lily, not you too! Damn you Peter! You will rue the day you chose to betray us!" shouted Sirius Black in anger. Though quite serious in his in desire of vengeance, he was quickly defused of his rage when he heard the gurgling of Harry, and noticed the putrid stink of baby. "Harry, you're alive!" He rushed to the crib where the tear stained babe slept. "I swear to you, I'll not let you die too, on my life and magic, I swear it."

Regret was strong in Sirius that day. It was his folly for having chosen to relinquish the responsibility of keeping the secret location of Lily and James Potter to Peter Pettigrew in an act of subterfuge. So he sought to avenge those that he failed by taking their son under his patronage. Though versed in the ways of nobility, he had unknowingly swore to a magically binding pact, such were his emotions at the time. Magic recognized the intent of such an oath, and thus blessed the statement with a nimbus of octarine.

It should be known that octarine, could possibly taste like tangerines. This of course roused Harry from his nap. With a smile on his face, he greeted the tired looking dogstar, "Pa-foo!".

Grinning at the endearing pronunciation of his name, Sirius shifted into his animagus form, that of a large dog, and begin licking at Harry's salty face. Afterwards he started sniffing around, before growling, "_Peter! The scent is fresh. He was here not long ago. RIP! I'll find him, and make him answer for his crimes. KILL! I'll avenge you James, you and Lily both. TEAR!"_

Noticing Harry's frightened face, Sirius forced down the urging of the beast just barely, and returned to his human form. "It's okay Harry. Don't be afraid. I'll… I'll be back. And you, and I will get a home somewhere!" With that said, Sirius set to changing Harry's nappy, tucking Harry in, and providing him with all necessary accommodations (such as teddy bear, and making sure the rocking charm was freshly powered.) Seeing as everything was spanner, and sprocket, the eldest son of Black, peered one last time down at the now sleeping Harry, and set off to right wrongs, that were left to rites (not that Sirius was a religious man of any sense.)

He became a dog once more, and bounded through the house, all through to the front yard, running forward until Peter's scent vanished, though not without trace. Looking back once more he spotted the lumbering form of Hagrid, and knew that Harry was in good hands. Running back to his bike, he conjured a piece of parchment, and hurriedly jotted down a message for Hagrid, and left his keys, before running back to where the rat's trail ended. if any one was watching him, they would have seen Black pull out his wand, wave it around, and then disappear. As luck would have it, in his rush to chase down Peter, he had forgotten to apply a sticking charm to his note, and an ill fortuned gust of wind, made lost his explanation of events. His key on the other hand being made of metal, and thus too heavy for the wind, remained to be used by Hagrid shortly afterwards.

How strange it must be for Rubeus Hagrid to discover Sirius Black's motorcycle, and then to learn later that Sirius had not only betrayed James and Lily Potter, but slew Peter Pettigrew alongside a handful of mundanes. To anyone with even a modicum of intelligence would find that a bit strange. Then again, nobody ever did comment on Hagrid's Lumos. Thundering through the Potter household, the half-giant took in the depredation with no good spirit. Not sparing more than a glance at the dead, he made his way to the crib of Potter heir, and made to leave. Spotting the Black motorcycle, and keys, he thought nothing of it, but did opt to pilot the beastly contraption. Thus did the mourning woodsman set off into the grim darkness of the morning.

Well past the designated hour of witching, did the lumbering groundskeeper arrive in the little neighborhood of Privet Drive, in Little Whinging of Surrey. Descending from the clouds on a metal steed of darkness, he arrived to the greeting of friends. Smiles were exchanged despite the dour nature of the night's happenings. A cloth bundled package exchanged hands, down from the towering personage of Hagrid, to the ancient, but not decrepit, wizard by name of Dumbledore. Said package was then placed on the ground, alongside a letter, before being spoken at.

"Goodbye Harry, you will be safe here. This will the last time for a long time that you will see us, but we will come for you in time. Take care." And with that he turned from the porch of Number Four, and leading his friends to another adventure, having resolved this quest for the time being.

* * *

Life was great for Petunia Dursley. Fresh out of school, she had become acquainted with a truly loving man, her beloved Vernon. He afforded her all the attention she felt she deserved, enough that even the harsh bitterness of parental neglect was assuaged. They saw in each other a reflection, a deep seated hatred for the unknown, and thus sought each other's companionship. Together they were as thick as molasses fudge, in body and spirit. It was like they were an extremist movement comprised of two members, an echo chamber where they could reaffirm their own beliefs without someone judging them adversely, and just as such they believed the same evils of changing nutritional guides. As such, they ground not against the ground, as frictionless as theoretical science (as in possibly secondary school level physics). It is quite nice to note of how much one might progress through the ranks if one never draws attention to their morally reprehensible thoughts. It was with this that Vernon Dursley was able to climb the ladder of corporate positions within Grunnings Drillings. With this came the car, household, and lifestyle afforded to one as such of a branch manager, there was even a white picket fence to boot. Yes. Life for one, Petunia Dursley, was good. She was secure in her life of a housewife, and with a baby on board, life was soon to be better than ever.

That was until she went to get the newspaper for her verdant Vernon.

Who would have thought there to be a baby of ill portents wrapped up in a cocoon of cloth and soiled diaper to be laying on their porch. Would could have anticipated such a thing coming to fruition. Nobody. Or at least not Petunia. Life was good. Keyword here being "was", as an unmarked baby (or in this case marked) without so much as a return address is something that would likely throw a spanner or four into the works.

"God blind me, what's this then? Why would someone do this to me, my house, my white picket fence." Lamented the lady of the house cursing the fates for having dealt her such a hand. Her cries quieting as her mind and body begin shutting down, unable to deal with the injustice wrought upon her. That is until she noticed a letter with a cursive note etched onto the face, "To Petunia Dursley nee Evans, and Vernon Dursley".

Ripping open the letter, Petunia quickly devoured the knowledge within, her face rapidly changing in a tumultuous storm of emotion. First desperate hope, then shocked devastation, and then finally indignant anger. She read it like rote, and towards the end saw red. It read as writ, and, just the same, promised untold horrors should compliance not be met. Without so much as a by your leave, it informed her of her participation in the protection of one, Harry James Potter: the now orphaned child of the unholy coupling of her freak of the sister, and her, just as freaky, husband. It was then that Vernon Dursley reared his ugly head, and saw his beautiful wife distraught. Gone was the glow of possible nuclear radiation (though much more likely pregnancy), replaced with a despondence unwelcome in his happy home. He trudged over to her, taking in his surroundings as he progressed forward with unseemly gait. Though as rotund as a rotisserie chicken, and as closed minded as a cloistered nun, Vernon Dursley was not bereft of mental capacity. He quickly noticed the baby, his wife's hands holding a letter. The streaking remnant of tears marring the pristine beauty of his wife's face.

Kneeling before his wife, he took her in his arms in a loving embrace.

"There there Pet, what seems to be the problem? Tell me that I might lay to rest your sorrows." He began rubbing her back in concentric circles in an attempt to calm her down.

"That freak of my sister. She… she's died…"

"That's terrible, we'll see her under, and resting safe." Vernon promised. He had no fondness for his Pet's family, but he would stand by her in all that she would.

"No, no, I don't care about that. She had the audacity to leave me with this. With her baby!" she cried.

"What? No, we'll just get rid of it, put the foul blighter up for adoption, or leave it at some orphanage."

"We can't do that, they'll bring him back, and they'll… they'll hurt us. They said that if we don't take care of him, they'll take care of us."

"Then… then we'll take care of him, but I'll not have him being freaky. I'll not stand for this. They wanted us to take him in then we will. They'll not have any say in this then," uttered Dursley with stern resolve. "He will submit to us. I'll make sure of that."

Thus began the life of Harry Potter in the Dursley household. A life of submission, of deference to those that held power. To be seen, but not heard. To only speak when spoken to. To go against the code was to commit high treason, for Petunia was queen, Vernon king, and Dudley crown prince. Any transgression was dealt with severely, such as imprisonment in the dungeons, for several weeks at a time, fed only a small water ration, and what paltry remains of food. Or a public flogging before the royals, usually at the hand of the royals. It was difficult to ingrain such concepts such as fealty and subservience into a three year old, but you would be shocked and awed by the lengths that a person would go to, to spite those that would subvert their perfect life. The roles that Harry played in the household are befitting of his lowly place in the world: farmer, cook, launderer, whipping boy, and knight just to name a few of the myriad of his positions. A farmer to till the field, and nurture the grounds' adornments to maintain a beautiful land befitting his betters. A cook to prepare the crop of the demesne, and imported meats, so as to feed the gullets of his masters. A launderer to make sure that the house and linens are clean, so that nobody might accuse his lord and lady of being slovenly. A whipping boy to be an example to the prince of the repercussions of his actions, would that he be instilled with accountability, and a desire to keep his subjects safe. And lastly, a knight to protect the prince, the lady, and the lord.

It is this life that Harry Potter lived. He maintained the lives of his hosts, and, save for a few times when he was young, did not exude freakishness. Thus Vernon and Petunia returned to their good life. No worries of having to change their ways, no worries of having to deal with anything outside of the norm.

That is until they received a letter addressed to Harry James Potter.

A letter inviting the addressee to the Hogwarts Institute of Witching and Wizardry.

They could have simply ignored it. They would certainly prefer to brush it under a rug, and hope the problem goes away, but over these years, they had grown fond of the boy. They had raised him with the respect and adherence that he should have. Though apparently they had failed to divest him of his intrinsic properties.

"I thought we were done with this freakishness?" spoke Vernon in a hard tone, "He hasn't done a thing in seven years."

"Apparently seven years isn't enough. We weren't hard enough on him. Maybe there's still a chance that we can beat it out of him." Petunia reasoned.

With a heavy heart Vernon sighed, "I doubt it. Nothing short of death would be enough to drive that demonic power from him. Face it Pet, we've lost. We tried our hardest, and it wasn't good enough. Let's just be happy that we've crushed him inside and out, and that he'll at least be a freak that knows his place."

"At least there's that." Petunia agreed.

"But we'll not have him returned to us. This time is our time. We'll keep him here until they come to get him, and then we'll talk to them." Vernon spoke as though uttering an edict, or decree.

"You're right. We will freed from these chains. Those rotters will finally pay for what they've done!"

"And, then, we'll go on that vacation we were talking about, and leave this all behind us." His wife's beaming smile made the last nine and a half years of his life entirely worth it.

**AN:** I'll be developing Harry's character next chapter. Along with Diagon Alley, and other stuff.


End file.
